Trucker 13–Trucker vs Teen Runaway

Erik’s eyes watered as he gulped and slurped on the thick cock that was stuffed down his throat. The teenaged boy was already well-experienced in giving blow jobs; he’d managed to get two-thirds of the way across the country by trading sex for rides with men he’d met at rest stop and gas stations.

Suddenly there was a grunt and a violent shudder and Erik felt a hot wet spurt on the back of his throat. His mouth filled with smoky manseed; he swallowed greedily, working his tongue along the sensitive ridge of flesh running along the underside of the engorged dick in a successful effort to milk every drop of cum out of the dude.

“Fuck,” the stranger moaned, “Damn, you’re good. Shame yer headin’ west up here at the interstate—I’d love to have ya suck my dick all the way back to Gallup.”

“Naw, man,” Erik drawled, “Gotta get out to LA. I’m gonna make it big out there. Hey, looks like there’s a rest stop coming up—you can drop me there.”

The driver sighed, nodded, and pulled off into the rest stop. The place was well-lit, a state installation with restroom, an info center—closed at this late hour—and an array of vending machines; it also had separate lots for cars and commercial vehicles.

The car pulled up to the curb. Erik opened the door and the interior dome light illuminated the driver—an older, pudgy man. Erik had barely gotten a glimpse of him when he’d gotten in the car; he definitely wasn’t the kid’s type. Good thing he’d had nice, thick—if short—dick, or the ride woulda been a long, dull slog.

As the older man headed back onto the highway, the boy turned headed for the bathroom. He needed to piss, and he wanted somewhere air-conditioned to wait for another lift. The car lot was completely empty, and the commercial lot there was but a single semi, shrouded in darkness at the far end of the lot.

It was past two in the morning; it might be a while before the right guy came along. And it was hot. Even at this late hour, the dry desert heat lingered unusually late—wasn’t it supposed to get cooler at night?

Within seconds, the boy was standing at a urinal, his long shaft pounding out a steady stream of piss. It took a while to empty his bladder; once he finished, he washed up at a sink, contemplating his appearance in the mirror.

Erik—whose darkest secret was that his real name was Louis; he still blushed at the memory of his mother’s raucous cries of “Louie, get in here!”—was seventeen and certainly looked no older than that. He’d been sexually active for more than four years, and had already learned the power his lean, youthful body had over the desires of others. He had no concerns at all over trading his body to get what he wanted.

The problem was that he’d been born in a small town in North Carolina. The supply of men who were in a position to help him was small; he had to find a place where he could whore himself out on a grand scale. Los Angeles seemed ideal; three days after his seventeenth birthday, he’d taken the cash he’d received as gifts, a small bag of clothes, and climbed out of his bedroom window without looking back.

That was four days ago. Now he was here, somewhere east of Flagstaff, Arizona, almost within reach of his goal. Excited and happy, he stood at the sink and washed the glaze of dried cum from his lips.

He’d included gel and mousse in his bag; his short black hair stood up from his scalp, but his careful sculpting was tousled after his last BJ; it actually somehow emphasized a quality of artless youth. His thick black eyebrows added to the arrogant cast of face; his large blue eyes were those of a spoiled punk used to achieving his every whim with a minimum of effort.

His lithe, boyish body was barely clad in a wifebeater that displayed his trim youthful arms to perfection. The white cotton was so thin that the dampness of Erik’s sweat made it transparent; the dark circles surrounding his erect nipples were visible from across the room. Below the waist, the kid sported a pair of cheap running shorts; the bright blue nylon was short enough to display a long length of Erik’s smooth, firm thighs.

One thing he hadn’t packed enough of—and hadn’t yet stopped to get—was socks. There was nothing between his bare feet and his dark gray Nike Air Ring Leader sneakers.

Bending over the sink, Erik splashed water into his face. He’d spent days servicing fat old men for rides without any release. He desperately hoped the next dude he met would be hot; he was horny as all fuck.

Then the restroom door opened and Erik was confronted with the sexiest man he’d ever seen.

The newcomer was tall, well over six feet. He wore a short-sleeve flannel work shirt in red plaid; it was unbuttoned and spread wide, displaying a hairy, burly torso. Small, oblong pieces of metal were nestled in the dark wiry chest fur; even from a distance, Erik recognized them as dog tags. The stranger’s dark hair was mostly obscured by a khaki green trucker’s cap; his hard, masculine face and strong cleft chin covered with a short black scruff. The muscle-bound stud’s footsteps echoed as the thick soles of his black harness boots thumped across the tiled floor; above them, the stud’s worn, slightly oil-smudged jeans strained against his powerful legs with every movement. Around his narrow waist snaked a thick brown leather belt with a large, elaborate buckle.

Erik could tell at a glance that he was looking at a semi driver. And the same glance took in the enormous bulge in the dude’s crotch, an extended ridge of denim-wrapped flesh that ran frighteningly far down the older man’s right thigh.

Fuck, Erik thought, please let him gimme a lift. He doesn’t even have to be heading west; I’ll go wherever he wants…

The Trucker only needed one glance himself; he knew fuckmeat the moment he laid eyes on it. This one was young, still in his teen. The experience killer smiled; he could almost smell the abundance of hormones from here. Full of testosterone and cum—even from across the room, the Trucker could see the hard-on tenting the punk’s shorts.

He knew the kid would ask for something—money, a ride, drugs, something to get the ball rolling. He already knew he’d play along; it’d been a while since he’d had a chance drain the rage and sperm that was boiling up the need for explosive release.

But the first thing that needed explosive release was his bladder. Ignoring the boy, he walked straight back to the urinal. Unzipping his fly, he made sure to turn slightly back to the door, standing just far enough back from the urinal that the kid could watch as he slowly extracted the full length of his thick shaft from its tight denim confines. Turning back to piss, he smirked, having seen the slut’s jaw drop at the sight of his tool. Kid was hooked.

He was right, in more than one way. As the buff truck driver stuffed his enormous hog back into his jeans, Erik worked up the courage to approach him.

“H-hey, man,” the teen quavered, hating the lack of confidence in his voice, but unable to control it in the presence of such a hyper-masculine stud, “You, uh, you drivin’? I’m—I’m lookin’ for a ride…”

The Trucker turned and looked directly at the kid for the first time, his ice-blue eyes sliding over the young slut like a butcher appraising a side of beef. Erik was used to the look—but somehow, this was different. This dude seemed to be much more intense about it. And Erik himself was much more responsive. A dark moist circle sprouted at the highest point of the peak in his shorts.

The Trucker saw that, too. He grinned salaciously at the boy. “Yeah? Ya wanna ride, huh? And whatcha gonna do to earn yer way? You got gas money? Takes a lot to fill the tank, boy.”

Erik swallowed the lump he felt in his throat with an audible gulping sound. Just hearing it made the Trucker’s cock throb; his jeans were so tight that the pulsing of the massive tube of manflesh was as obvious to the kid as his own sexual arousal was to the Trucker.

“Yeah,” Erik gasped breathlessly, “I can do that. Fuck yeah, man I can do that as long as ya want.” What it was he could do didn’t need to be stated in any more detail at the moment.

“I’m headed west,” the Tucker said gruffly. Actually, he was headed north, but he’d seen enough of these worthless little road sluts to know they were usually headed out to LA in the hopes of whoring their way into riches and fame.

For a brief moment, he idly wondered how many ended up dead in a ditch. He was personally responsible for at least five that he could recall; they kinda blurred together after a while.

And at any rate, it didn’t matter which way the punk was going. The only way he was gonna go was down, permanently.

For his part, Erik would have gone whatever direction the Trucker was just for a chance to ride his cock; the fact that he was going west only added to his pleasure. “Aw, bro, that’s perfect!”

Abruptly, the Trucker headed for the door, jerking his head. Erik took the hint. In a moment, they were out of the building, the teen’s Nikes padding across the asphalt as he eagerly followed the Trucker’s thick, thumping bootsteps back into the darkness at the far end of the commercial lot.

Trailing like a puppy, Erik’s eyes were glued to the older man’s ass, covered in tight denim like a second skin. He felt as if he’d hit the jackpot—he felt as if, for the first time since running away from home, he was getting a glimpse of what his life held in store. For a moment, he was held entranced by the image of continuous sex with a string of hot buff studs—

—only to walk right into the back of the hot buff stud he was with. The latter had stopped at the cab of his truck. He turned and glared momentarily at Erik, making the boyslut blush with embarrassment.

The Trucker was briefly annoyed, but he smiled grimly at the thought of the punishment he’d soon be meting out to the cunt. Unlocking the door, he swung his large, muscle-bound frame up into the cab. “C’mon,” he said as he headed to the sleeper compartment in the rear. He didn’t bother to look back and see if the boy was following; he already knew. Stupid little faggot was walking into a killing pit with his eyes wide open.

Erik climbed into the semi’s cab. He glanced around the space in the back, marveling at the almost cozy compactness of the rear compartment as the Trucker closed off the front with a privacy curtain. The bunk on the rear wall wasn’t big, but it was big enough to get fucked on, and that was all he was interested in.

Hearing a faint thump behind him, Erik turned around and saw that the older man had slipped off his shirt and let it fall to the floor. The Trucker stood with his magnificent, bulked-out chest bare, with nothing but the dogtags to accent the furry cleft between his bulging hubcap pecs. It was warm in the cab—the Trucker had turned up the temp on AC, not wanting to run the battery low—and beads of sweat glistening deep in the forest of his body hair.

“Strip,” he commanded, looking levelly at Erik.

The kid complied, hurriedly pulling the white wifebeater up over his head and revealing his smooth, flat belly and broad chest, the low-rising pecs surmounted by large dark nipples. Erik then reached down to his slim waist and slipped the running shorts down, wriggling his firm legs to make them drop to the floor. He had to reach inside briefly when they got hung up on his jutting cock; once free of the silky blue nylon, his erect rod bobbed about, dripping clear spatters of precum on his Nike Air Rings.

The Trucker moved his hand down to his groin. Without breaking his cold, hypnotic eye contact with Erik, he slowly—very slowly—slid the zipper down.

Despite his cocky expression, Erik’s voice was hesitant and uncertain. “I-I’m, um, Erik—with a K,” he said haltingly, wanting to see what the older man was doing in his crotch but unable to look away from those captivating, ice-cold eyes. It took a physical effort to drag his eyes away; when he did, they landed on a half-empty pack of Marlboros on a small shelf to one side. The boy’s attention was momentarily diverted. “Hey, can I bum a smoke?

Erik took the hint and kneeled in front of the alpha, looking along the man’s rippled, fur-covered belly. “Uh-uh, face down here,” the Trucker growled, grabbing the punk’s head in his strong hand and physically reorienting it towards his open fly; as he did, he felt the cunt’s hair gel crunch under his fingers.

At eye-level with the open zipper, the teen could see that the massive tube was still semi-soft, bent downwards so the dick was stuffed down the stud’s left thigh. “Haul it out, you little slut,” the Trucker demanded.

Reaching in, Erik felt the throbbing in the thick cock in his hands. He tugged it mightily, slowly extracting the pulsating manmeat. Once he had the full length of the shaft out, it began rapidly stiffening in his grasp.

It was also oozing precum in a steady stream. “Put it in yer mouth, kid,” the Trucker demanded roughly. “I wanna feel you choke on it. I wanna feel my big cum-filled balls slapping against yer chin.”

Erik’s dick swelled painfully at the words, but before he could obey, the Trucker took matters—and the boy’s head—into his own hands. Digging his fingers into the slut’s stiff hair, he jerked forward, ramming his cock into the kid’s gaping mouth. Erik gagged, his eyes watering, as the thick rod, already slick with precum, slammed into the back of his throat; the shaft of manflesh was so large it forced his jaw open.

With his mouth crammed full of cock, the teen slut was in fag heaven. As he let his tongue lovingly explore every thick, pulsing vein wrapped around the enormous tool, he reached up, almost unconsciously, and ran his hands over the alpha’s tight, ripped abs, his fingers catching in the heavy, dark fur in the stud’s treasure trail.

Closing his eyes in erotic pleasure and fondling the older man’s rock-hard abdomen, Erik opened his jaw as wide as he could and did his best to deep-throat the huge, throbbing shaft. It wasn’t enough. Clutching Erik’s head in an iron grip, the Trucker shoved his swollen manhood far down the punk’s esophagus, completely plugging the airway.

Erik began to choke. It was hot as fuck—for about forty-five seconds. Then he pressed his hands flat against the top’s firm, powerful thighs and pushed, trying to pull back from the alpha’s overwhelming throatfuck. He couldn’t.

The kid started gagging. He slapped his hands on the Trucker’s legs, trying to signal him to back off; instead, with a sinister chuckle, the stud gripped the boy’s head tightly and drove his shaft even further into the slut’s trachea.

For a brief moment, as his eyes started to water, Erik began to panic. Then, with no warning at all, the Trucker pulled his tool out, shoving the kid away. Erik fell back on the floor, coughing.

“Get up here and work my nips, cunt,” the alpha commanded.

With the back of his hand, Erik wiped drool from his chin. He looked up at the leering top in disbelief. “Uh, c-can I have a cigarette now? Please?” he asked plaintively, his cockiness skullfucked out of him.

The Trucker paused for a moment, considering, then spoke. “Sure, cocksucker,” he grinned, “Grab the pack and the lighter and bring them here.”

Erik obeyed, scrambling quickly for the pack of Marlboros. Clutching them eagerly, he approached the Trucker. “Light one and gimme,” the alpha demanded. Again, the boy did what he was told, lighting the cigarette, then handing it to the older man before lighting one for himself.

Erik took a deep drag off his smoke but before he got the chance to exhale, the powerful top reached out and grabbed his head again, jerking it forward until the punk’s face was being ground into the stud’s chest hair. “I toldja to work my nips, asswipe,” the Trucker barked.

Suddenly the teen slut found a hard plug of flesh shoved into his mouth. He worked it with his tongue as he breathed out the cigarette smoke, feeling the nipple grow even firmer under the ministrations of his mouth and the hot smoke.

The moment the pressure on his head relaxed, Erik pulled back and took another drag. The Trucker wasn’t happy. “You only done one of ‘em, bitch,” he growled, but the effect wasn’t what he expected; the boyslut’s cockiness seemed to flood back into him with each fresh inhalation of nicotine.

“Naw, man,” Erik drawled, leaning back on the bunk and sucking on the butt with his eyes closed. “I want you in me. I wanna feel that big cock in my ass. It’s gonna hurt like fuck, but I’ll bet I’m gonna remember this one.”

The Trucker’s eyes narrowed as his rage at the arrogant young fag bubbled up. “Remember it? You’ll remember my cock for the rest of yer pathetic little life, cocksucker.”

Erik blew out a huge cloud of smoke and lolled his head languidly, trying desperately to maintain his nonchalance, but his dick told the real story. The dribble of precum from his swollen purple head had increased dramatically; the slit in the tip had widened to allow a steady trickle of transparent fluid to flow.

“Oh yeah,” the horny teen said in a tight voice, shuddering with eager lust. Stubbing his butt out in a half-filled ashtray on a shelf, Erik turned around. Facing the rear of the cab, he bent over, placing his palms flat on the bunk, presenting his smooth bubble butt to the Trucker. Overwhelmed by the hormones flooding his lean, lithe adolescent body, Erik reached back with both hands and spread his rounded asscheeks. “Put it in me, dude,” he moaned, “Use me, dude, fuck me like there ain’t no tomorrow!”

A quiet voice came from behind, shot through with cold humor. “I can do that.” Then Erik felt pressure against his sphincter.

The Trucker grinned as he pushed the head of his dick—nearly the size of a standard cue ball—into the kid’s ass. Reaching over to the ashtray he ground his own smoke out, then grasped the punk’s waist with both hands and started to shove, feeling his enormous tool start to force its way into the youth’s tight fuckhole.

Erik grunted, first with pleasure, then—as the pressure on his ass continued to increase—with surprise. This was followed by a deeper grunt of effort as he struggled to adjust himself to the massive flesh tube penetrating his rectum.

It didn’t take long for the grunt to escalate into a cry of pain.

“Wait!” the boy cried out, “Fuck, it hurts—stop!”

“Shaddup,” the Trucker growled, shoving harder.

Erik squealed in pain as his sphincter was stretched further than it ever had been before. The sound stoked the alpha’s anger; he dug his fingers into the boy’s tender skin, holding the struggling youth tightly.

Grabbing at the bunk, Erik managed to bring one knee up onto the edge of the sleeping surface. He lunged forward, trying to escape the pain of having his asshole torn open. He succeeded in slipping off the Trucker’s massive rod, but then his attempt backfired miserably.

It happened so fast he had no time to react. A powerful arm reached under his and then he was flipped in the air, landing on the bunk on his back, hard enough to knock the air out of him.

He looked up at the Trucker. “Stupid fuckin’ faggot,” the alpha sneered and dealt the punk a quick pair of rabbit punches right to the face. Bright pain exploded in Erik’s face and his head rocked back under the violent blows. Stunned, the youth was unable to protest as the muscle-bound sadist thrust his giant throbbing shaft between the kid’s parted legs.

The moment he rammed it home, though, Erik found his voice in spite of the sudden assault. The agony in his ass was like nothing he’d imagined could ever existed; the Trucker’s cock was so big it literally split the teen’s sphincter, ripping it open in two separate tears. Searing, glassy pain shot through the youth as his colon was stretched out of shape by the thick manmeat that plugged it full.

Erik screamed. He shrieked until his voice cracked as it echoed off the metal walls of the cab. “Yeah, that’s it,” the Trucker grinned, “That’s how a fag like you needs to get fucked, yeah? Take a real man’s dick, you worthless little sack a’ homo shit!”

Wallowing in nightmarish pain, Erik still heard and understood the buff killer’s words. They had no effect on his screaming; the veins wrapping the cruel top’s cock scraped his tender, sensitive rectal lining like barbed wire—his high-pitched shrieks were merely the involuntary result.

The punk’s deafening clamor only emphasized his desperate isolation. The teen fag’s lithe, lean body writhed helplessly, pinned to the bunk by the weight of his powerful assailant’s muscles, impaled on the alpha’s cock.

Outside, Erik’s screams were swept away on the hot night wind, becoming inaudible mere yards from the darkened cab. There was no one around for miles. There were just the two males, alone together, entwined in a painful, erotic embrace of violence and lust.

Again, Erik heard the words, but they seemed to come from some other world, some place beyond the glassy bubble of pain he was inhabiting. They had no bearing on his reality, which—like his ass—was full of cock. Enormous, agonizing cock, plumbing the furthest depths of his guts. Part of his mind that managed to remain insulated from the pain and fear of the brutal rape held a mental image of him at the moment as nothing more than a human sheath, wrapped around a gigantic dick.

He couldn’t understand why his own shaft was fully erect; pain had always made him go limp. He had no way of knowing that he was being stimulated internally by the intense pressure of the Trucker’s tool against his prostate. All the unfortunate runaway knew was that his own dick was traitorously stiff, bobbing in the air as he was being brutally assraped. And it hurt so fucking bad. And it was probably gonna hurt worse if he couldn’t stop screaming…

…but he couldn’t stop screaming.

The Trucker leaned forward, his handsome, erotically masculine face lit from within by an unholy, frightening rage. There was a faint clinking sound as the top’s dogtags danced on the boy’s heaving chest. Erik could feel the older man’s breath hot on his face.

“I said shut the fuck up,” the Trucker hissed between clenched teeth; despite his intense anger, he never mistimed a single thrust of his hips as he continued to drive his shaft mercilessly up the punk’s ass.

“No! Get outta me! Fuckin’ hell, get it out, it hurts fuck AAAHHHH!” Erik screeched. His balled fists drummed uselessly against the Trucker’s broad, rock-hard chest. Suddenly the Trucker twisted away; keeping the kid impaled on his erect rod, he managed to bend down and snatch something up off the floor of the cab. He made sure to hold it up in front of Erik’s face.

It was Erik’s white cotton wifebeater. At first, the shrieking teen didn’t understand.

“I toldja I’d shut you up, faggot,” the Trucker snarled. He started twisting the shirt into a three-foot length of fabric, and Erik understood. He stopped screaming, but it was too late.

“Was gonna off yer worthless ass anyway, punk,” the Trucker sneered, breaking the sudden silence, “But yer screamin’ like a fuckin’ pansy and it’s gettin’ on my nerves. So ya get to die a few minutes early.”

Erik shook his head, his mouth gaping, his eyes wide with fear. He didn’t want to acknowledge the purpose of the twisted shirt in the alpha’s hands, but he wasn’t permitted the luxury of denial. The Trucker lunged; Erik tried to block but the alpha knocked his arms away as easily as swatting a fly. Before he could prevent it, the scared teen realized the cotton band had been wrapped around his throat—and pulled tight.

The fabric was still damp and rank with hormone-laden boysweat. Just before his air was cut off, Erik inhaled a deep, heady musk; the mix of his own sweat and that of the powerful alpha filled his lungs with pheromones before they were permanently sealed.

“There ya go,” the Trucker jeered, “Now shaddup and die, fuckmeat.”

It was worth it, the alpha thought as he jerked the wifebeater brutally tight, it was worth it, just to see the look of panic in the young faggot’s eyes, just to feel the teen’s fuckhole clench his dick in involuntary spasms.

Terror welled up in Erik. This stud, this muscle-bound god—this wasn’t supposed to be happening. He hadn’t hit the jackpot, he was being hurt, being raped…being murdered. Frantically, he jammed his hands up under the Trucker’s jaw, trying futilely to push the alpha away.

The powerful sadist easily shrugged the kid’s flailing hands away. “Die on my dick, you cumsuckin’ pervert,” he sneered, then hocked a wad of phlegm into the boy’s panic-stricken face. “It feels so fuckin’ good when little homo fucks like you kick and die with my cock inside ya.”

Erik kicked and writhed in horrific agony; the tensile strength of the damp cotton band allowed it to sink deeply into the kid’s smooth, soft neck flesh without stretching or tearing. The frantic youth clawed desperately at the shirt, but once it sank in, he could no longer get his fingers around it—and he turned his panic on his assailant.

The Trucker had snuffed at least two dozen faggots—he didn’t keep count—and by now knew the stages of terror, submission and death better than the meat experiencing them did. He recognized the impending explosion of fear and braced himself as the cunt lashed out like a feral cat.

The slim young teen scrambled with a frenetic strength that would have surprised anyone not experienced with the true fear of death; the meat was awash in cold terror and stuck blindly at the Trucker’s muscled mass. His hands, crabbed like claws, clutched at the older man’s bulging biceps before slipping off the sweat-slick skin.

Still mindlessly seeking some way of stopping the choking pain, the clutching, grabbing hands soon landed on the Trucker’s broad chest—and dug in. The kid’s fingers curled in the wiry, almost steel wool-like chest hair and yanked painfully.

Then, inadvertently, Erik opened the door to a whole new universe of pain. He raked his fingernails over the Trucker’s chest, scraping off fur and drawing blood.

Only one person had made the Trucker bleed before, and that wasn’t a good memory. It triggered a heightened rage response.

“Goddam fuckin’ piece of fag shit!” he roared, twisting the cotton shirt so he could maintain the excruciating tautness with a single hand. The other hand he drew back into a fist, then used it to punctuate his speech with the emphasis of a wrecking ball.

“Worthless [BAM] little [BAM] motherfucker [BAM], you still don’t fuckin’ get it [BAM], do ya [BAM]? Only thing yer good for is milkin’ my shaft [BAM] and soakin’ up my load [BAM]. Looks like I’m gonna hafta beat it into ya [BAM], huh, cunt [BAM]? Know what I’m gonna do [BAM] with yer used-up boymeat [BAM] when I’m done with ya [BAM]? Huh? I’m gonna throw ya out [BAM] like a used cumrag [BAM]—yer gonna end up rottin’ in a ditch like garbage, hah [BAM]!”

The third blow was accompanied by a snapping sound as Erik’s cheekbone broke, the fifth with the squelching sound of split lips. On the seventh or eighth—neither predator nor prey was keeping an accurate count—the boy’s nose broke, the cartilage collapsing with a loud crunching noise. And on the thirteenth impact, the orbit of the teen’s left eye fractured into multiple pieces, causing the white of the swelling, bulging orb to hemorrhage blood-red.

Unfortunately for Erik, his youth worked against him; his adolescent body, fueled by raging hormones, was unable to succumb to unconsciousness. He was awake and aware of every blow, and every word. He knew exactly what was happening to him; he just couldn’t understand why.

Even the sex had gone bad; it felt like a massive ingot of white-hot steel had been shoved up his ass, searing his guts out as it reamed his fuckhole. The intense pressure against his prostate was reflected in the intense pressure in his cock; it felt so achingly hard and swollen that it seemed about to burst. And the pressure of the ligature around his throat was reflected by the pressure in his chest, which felt like it had already burst in a fiery explosion that still raged within him.

It was his head that hurt the worst, though; his smashed face was flaming agony, but on the inside…oh my fuckin’ god my head is swelling my tongue I can’t close my mouth I can’t close my eyes…

Taking the shirt back in both hands and tightening it further, the Trucker lowered himself down until he was lying full-length on top of the kid. The lean, smooth teen body writhed and jerked under the weight of the muscled hardman, skin sliding against furry skin on a lube of deathsweat that was being squeezed out of the boy.

The older man bent his head down to whisper in the punk’s ear; as he did so, the stiff black stubble on his cheek grazed the kid’s face, scraping painfully against the boy’s bruised, swelling skin.

“Ya feelin’ me now, boy? Ya findin’ out what it feels like to die, aintcha? Fuck yeah, cunt, I’m gonna cum so hard when you die. Been too long since I wasted a fag—you came along just in time, asswipe. Stupid young fuckmeat, ready and waiting to suffer and die on my dick. Just needed a little tenderizin’ to learn how to accept death from the hands of a real man.”

Erik hadn’t learned to accept his own death yet, but at the moment the terror was overwhelmed with sheer physical pain; as his nervous system slowly began to die of oxygen deprivation, the nerve endings underwent a common paradoxical reaction—they became more sensitive. The slighted touch against Erik’s skin was magnified to the intensity of agony.

Without even breaking the skin, the sharp edges of the Trucker’s dogtags, pressed as they were into the boy’s chest by the heavier man’s weight, felt like knives piercing his flesh. His thick purple cock, already painfully erect, was also pressed between the entwined male forms; as the underside rasped up and down on the Trucker’s large metal belt buckle, Erik felt unimaginable pain that he pictured mentally as the skin being flayed off his dick.

Beneath him, the once-arrogant teen was unrecognizable in the battered, blackened mass of swollen flesh above the cotton band—the latter sunk so deep in the kid’s throat it was almost invisible. Erik’s face was dark and congested, the eyes—both now blood-red with hemorrhages—bulging grotesquely from their sockets, the left one off-center from the shattered orbit. They were swollen to the point he was unable to close them; he was forced to watch his own Nike Air Ring Leaders, just past the Trucker’s shoulders, as they kicked and flailed helplessly in the air.

The boy’s split, purple lips had parted, letting the monstrously swollen tongue to emerge in mass of thick white foam that drooled down the youth’s smooth cheeks. His black hair, stiff in gelled disarray, was wet with the same cold deathsweat that soaked his pits and lubed his smooth young body.

Erik heard the words—barely, and understood them—barely, but they no longer carried an immediacy about them. His brain was dying, cerebral cells going dark by the millions as his body shudder helplessly in the grip of a death that was swiftly approaching—but not swiftly enough.

The teen slut was ready to die. The pain was too much; he just wanted it to end, but the Trucker was right—his youth worked against him; his healthy system had been full of oxygen when his air supply had been cut off.

He could feel—oh fuck, he could still feel everything. This wasn’t supposed to be happening; he’d just wanted a lift and some dick. Now—Jesus fuckin’ Christ, his throat, he could feel is collapsing—

No, no he wasn’t enjoying it, but his cock was so hard it hurt and he didn’t know why, the pressure and the pounding in his head in his cockhead and behind his eyes, that frantic percussion—was that his pulse?—his head was gonna explode and his dick was gonna explode the pressure was too intense—

The enormous cock that had roused such lust and desire in the oversexed teenager was now being wielded as an instrument of nightmarish torture, tearing him open on the inside. With the heightened sensitivity of his dying nervous system, Erik was suffering the pain of impalement in an almost medieval sense as the alpha’s inhumanly massive shaft pounded its way through his torn, inflamed colon and repeatedly embedded itself deep into his tender guts.

The Trucker held on to the twisted wifebeater with both hands, feeling the teen dying on his engorged cock. Tracing the progression of the kid’s brain death was relatively easy for the proficient serial killer; he knew the symptoms from long experience. The meat was nearly gone, but the way the little fuck was gagging and slobbering meant that there was still a spark of human mentality left—

—and the Trucker was so fucking turned on at the thought of abusing and tormenting that spark until it finally flickered out.

“Does it hurt to die?” he hissed, “Good. You earned this, you faggot slut. Only thing you’re fuckin’ good for is catchin’ my spunk, and you’re good for that once—maybe twice. And after I’m done usin’ ya, all that’ll be left it rottin’ meat that I’m gonna dump on the side of the road. Not like anyone’s gonna miss ya, right, fuckwad?”

The boy heard the words, at least the start, but had lost the ability to react. Lack of oxygen had inflicted massive trauma to his central nervous system; he no longer had control over his physical movements. As the Trucker spoke, the kid began to convulse, slowly at first but with a swiftly-increasing intensity.

The sick, sadistic top grinned and grunted with pleasure; this was the best part, the way the meat stroked and milked his shaft as it writhed in its death throes. And this boy seemed to last forever; the slick, lithe, smooth body wriggling and shuddering beneath his hairy weight, the kid’s thick, pulsating dick pressed between two flat, firm bellies. The youth’s arms had stopped flailing; now, they clutched rigidly at his killer’s shoulders. The Trucker could feel the heels of the punk’s kicks digging into his denim-wrapped ass as the boy’s legs tightened involuntarily around his waist.

Erik was gone and what little was left of Louis was encased in a hard red ball of agony—the fiery pain that seared his chest and head, his throat and his ass and especially his dick, had somehow managed to merge into a solid mass of suffering as his body twisted and contorted itself convulsively.

“Oh fuck, fuck yeah,” the Trucker grunted, his face grimacing as he tried to hold back the explosive orgasm boiling up in his tight scrotum. Deep in his boots, his toes curled in an instinctive attempt to brace his hard, powerful body. His arms jerked back almost involuntarily, veins popping out on his thick, swollen biceps; the white cotton ligature sank into the kid’s neck to a grotesque depth.

Suddenly, there was a loud wet cracking sound; the boymeat’s throat had been crushed into a wad of blood, phlegm and mangled cartilage. It was a special kind of pain and it merged seamlessly with the last sensation that the unfortunate youth had to endure—the razor-sharp agony of his own ejaculation.

As the teen spewed a massive deathload over the Trucker’s chest and belly, the boycum matting the older man’s fur, the Trucker gave one last, deep grunt and let go, his hot potent manspunk hosing the boy’s guts and filling his rectum.

The hot wind still swept out of the night, whipping around the silent cab where a man remained locked in a tight, trembling, orgasmic embrace with the corpse of a seventeen-year-old boy.

A few minutes later, when the Trucker was sure he’d drained every drop of sperm out of his huge balls, he disengaged himself from the dead punk. Taking a moment to stuff his still-oozing dick back into his jeans, the sweaty, cum-covered alpha looked down with contempt at the corpse.

There was little left that was recognizable of the cocky teenager. The smooth young face was now a puffy blue mask with a thick purple tongue protruding from the middle of it. The nose was bent and broken with blood trials from both nostrils and the eyes were nothing but slits of white streaked with red under swollen lids.

The dark gray Nikes were quivering as the fag’s nervous system continued to fire random nerve signals; the Trucker knew from past experience that the meat would twitch and kick for an hour or so longer. The little fucker’s dick was going soft, expelling the semen that had remained in the shaft at death.

Grabbing a washcloth from a small set of drawers on the left, the heaving, sweat-slick alpha slipped past the privacy curtain and exited the cab. Walking quickly across the empty parking lot, he headed into the rest room. Under the glaring fluorescent light, he soaked the washcloth and used it to give his torso a brief sponge bath, wiping the teen’s crusty jizz out of his body fur.

Even though his boots thumped just as loudly on the pavement on his way back to the truck as on the way in, the Trucker’s steps were lighter. He felt a warm glow of satisfaction at the workout he’d gotten snuff the young homo. Even his dogtags jingled cheerfully on his chest.

The young ones could take a good, hard beating and still let him work out some while bangin’ and offin’ them—he’d remember that. Oh fuck yeah, he’d remember that.

He was on the highway within fifteen minutes, cruising along with the window down, letting the warm night air dry the dark curly hair on his chest. As the miles flew by, his mind kept turning back to the incredibly erotic way the adolescent slut had died on his cock. The way the motherfucker’s asshole clutched his throbbing shaft, milking it desperately, convulsively as life was choked out of the little punk…

The Trucker found that he had to reach into his crotch and shift his stiffening rod.

He began eyeing the side of the road, wanting to dump the meat before sunup. He was near the center of one of the most godforsaken sections of highway in the state—in the entire country for that matter—but there was no sense taking chances.

He’d seen no other vehicles for an hour when he pulled off the two-lane road onto a wide, level section of shoulder. Beyond the shoulder, the land dipped down into a deep, narrow gully, shadowed with the dry, brown remains of whatever dank vegetation managed to grow when there was water present.

It’d be a long time before anyone found anything tossed down there.

Taking one last look in the rearview mirror to ensure he was alone, the Trucker made his way past the privacy curtain into the sleeper section of the cab. Somewhere in the past hundred miles, the dead boy had rolled off the bunk; the corpse was splayed out face down on the floor.

Standing over it, the Trucker admired the smooth, lean meat, the tender, rounded ass that seemed designed for fucking, the firm, lithe legs spread invitingly apart, with the grey Nikes still on the feet. His cock was straining painfully in his jeans. The feelings were conflicting; he didn’t fuck corpses, but this little fuck still seemed to be asking for it.

“Fuck it,” the Trucker muttered, “Why not?”

Bending down, he grabbed the dead teen and tossed the corpse onto the bunk, still face down. He positioned it crossways with the legs hanging off, as if the boy was kneeling at the bunk and bent down over it. In that position, the ass was perfectly set up for penetration.

As usual, it took the hulking alpha a moment or two to extract his gigantic shaft from its tight denim confines. When it was finally free, it was as engorged and oozing as if he hadn’t just emptied his sack a little over an hour earlier.

Lowering himself down, he inserted his throbbing member into the cadaver and was pleasantly surprised. The meat was cool, but not cold, and rigor mortis had set in just enough to make the mangled dead asshole comfortably firm enough to grip the Trucker’s cock just right.

With a sigh of pleasure, the sick killer inserted his manhood into the boy’s fuckhole until he was balls-deep in the dead teenager. The sigh was soon replaced by deep lusty grunts at the older man plowed his cock into the depths of the cooling carcass. The meat was still limp enough for the dead youth’s limbs to jerk and shift in response to each and every thrust of the Trucker’s huge, pulsating shaft.

It had been years since the Trucker had violated the corpse of one of his kills; he’d forgotten the sweet, easy sensation of a victim unable to resist—and this one, such young smooth flesh, so supple, even in death…

It was too much. The Trucker shuddered violently as he pumped another massive load into the dead boy’s guts, giving the cold meat one last burst of warmth with his scalding geyser of semen. “Fuck! Fuck! Goddam faggot! Dead piece a’ shit!” he cried in a gruff, constricted voice that echoed of the metal walls of the tiny sleeper compartment. Involuntarily, he grabbed the punk’s jaw and twisted it, his arms jerking roughly in orgasmic intensity and snapping the meat’s neck with a gruesomely loud shattering sound.

The only other noises to accompany the perverted desecration of the teenager’s corpse were the joyous jangling of the Trucker’s dogtags and the desolate whistling of the pre-dawn breeze.

For the second time, the Trucker disengaged himself from the dead kid; this time, he used the boy’s shorts as a rather unsatisfactory cumrag to wipe off his dripping cock. As he tucked his fully-drained member back into his jeans, he pulled back the privacy curtain and looked outside the cab—there was still obviously no one within miles.

So there was no one to see him yank the dead teenager out of the cab by his arms; there was no one to see the channels carved in the dirt by the corpse’s Nikes as it was dragged across the shoulder to the gully. There was certainly no one to notice when the muscular hardman, in tight jeans and boots, but shirtless, dumped the dead meat into the ditch; in fact, it was three months before the skeletal remains were found.

It was finally ID’d by dental records. The kid’s mama had made sure her Louie had good teeth.

There was someone to notice that one of the fucker’s Nikes had come off as he was being dragged—the Trucker. When he drove off, he made sure one of his rig’s wheel passed right over the sneaker, grinding it into the gravel on the side of the road.

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2 thoughts on “Trucker 13–Trucker vs Teen Runaway”

Another victim left to rot and have its bones cleaned by vultures in the desert. Tsk, tsk. Lucky for the Trucker, the lure of an easy life in Los Angeles will always bring plenty of young men to the rest stops, looking to trade a bj for a ride.

M3M, you get better with each passing story. When tbe FISTED facial blows [ BAM ] occccur i can picture the clenched fist and bulging forearm and bicep muscles FLEXXING as he PLOWS HIS FIST into Erik’s face. Through your writing I can hear the impact of the first, the TRUCKERS huffed out breaths and barely perceptible “fuck yeahs” as he strikes his prey so effortlessly, with total determination. M3M your descriptive talent is second to none, THANK YOU!